


Clipped Wings

by leonidaslion



Series: Angelwings [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dark, Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-23
Updated: 2011-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-15 01:00:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leonidaslion/pseuds/leonidaslion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Prompt:</b> Ethereal, knife</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clipped Wings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [supernaturalsam](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=supernaturalsam).



> Takes place during _Martyr's Fall: The Angel of Death_

Her name was Jessica, and she was blond. She didn’t look like Sam’s girlfriend in any other way— _wasn’t_ Sam’s girlfriend, and he knew that. He did. He also knew what was in store for him if he refused.

But instead of bowing his head like a good dog, Dean tossed the knife into the wall and spat in Azrael’s face.

The angel’s expression of surprise would have been comical if Dean had expected to come out of this in one piece: it had obviously thought that he was broken in by now. Not that he was far from that point. Sometimes, if the job or the punishment had been particularly harsh, it was difficult to remember that there had ever been anything before the knife and the blood and Azrael’s hands stroking his marked shoulder blades.

But then again, sometimes the sick bastard did something to bring it all screaming back.

Dean watched surprise melt into anger on the angel’s perfect features and then it had him by the throat. He clawed at its hands reflexively, knowing he couldn’t do anything but helpless to stop himself from trying. Azrael tightened its grip, talons digging bloody furrows into his skin.

Dean’s heartbeat pounded deafeningly in his head as it carried him downstairs: down to the basement. He choked and gasped for air, feet kicking against the wall and Azrael’s side indiscriminately, and wished that he would just pass out already.

Fat fucking chance.

It didn’t bother with chains this time. Just dropped him face down on the stone tabletop _(easier to clean than wood, didn’t leave any messy stains)_ , and said, “Stay.”

Dean’s muscles trembled with the urge to disobey: to fight and kick and run. But he was still lying there when Azrael came back holding its favorite butcher knife.

“We’ve had this talk before, Dean,” it said. “This isn’t a partnership. There will be no debates: no refusals. If I give you an order, then I expect it to be obeyed.”

“Fuck you.” Oh good, his voice still worked. Probably because the son of a bitch wanted to hear him scream.

“We’ll try something different today,” Azrael continued smoothly. “Since your usual discipline doesn’t seem to be working.” It pressed one hand between his shoulder blades and he felt the wings unfurl. Smoky and insubstantial, they draped down off the table and into the corner of his vision.

“I’m not certain whether it’s possible to cut something ethereal with a human weapon,” Azrael mused, running one hand along the edge of a wing.

Dean’s stomach clenched. It might not be possible—wouldn’t leave any real damage behind—but he could feel the slide of Azrael’s fingers along phantom feathers, and he was pretty damned sure that he’d be able to feel the knife just as well. His skin jumped as Azrael rested the chilled flat of the blade against his shoulder, its edge just brushing against the base of his right wing. A low, panicked noise worked its way from the back of his throat.

“Let’s find out,” Azrael said brightly, and the knife began to cut.


End file.
